


Ode to Joy

by omphalos



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Angst, Gen, warning: Holocaust discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-06
Updated: 2009-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt talks to a priest. The priest talks back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ode to Joy

**Author's Note:**

> I used Kurt's background from the official Nightcrawler X2 Prelude to write this, but I also rifled X-comics canon to fill in certain important details.

_"Freude, schoener Goetterfunken,  
Tochter aus Elysium,  
Wir betreten feuertrunken,  
Himmlische, dein Heiligtum.  
Deine Zauber binden wieder  
Was der Mode Schwert geteilt  
Bettler werden Fuerstenbrueder  
Wo dein sanfter Fluegel weilt."_  
(From: _An die Freude_ by Friedrich Schiller)

"Hola, Kurt," said a deep voice from behind him, the drawn out vowels immediately identifying the speaker. Who else but Father Enrico would greet him by name here anyway? No one from the school ever came to the church, and Kurt knew no one else in Salem Center.

He turned in the pew, hurriedly removing his hat in obeisance to guilt if not precisely to church tradition. "_Guten Tag, Herr Pfarrer_. That is, hello." English. He had to speak only English. Didn't he have enough to mark him out as _der Ausländer_ without using the language best known in this land as the shtick of Hollywood evil?

Father Enrico, a large man in girth if not in height, smiled benignly. "It's been a little while since we last saw you here at St Catherine's, hasn't it? Concern was beginning to prickle."

Kurt looked down. "I... there were people here. Two times."

The small church served an equally small Catholic community in the town, but it seemed a lifeline for those few. It, and Father Enrico's friendship, had certainly become a lifeline for Kurt in the months since Professor Xavier had taken him in. He did not make friends easily; even his fellow mutants seemed uncertain how to approach him. No one was unfriendly at the school, not since they'd grown used to him. They were all kind, helpful and concerned for his well-being, but it wasn't at all like the circus had been. Everyone seemed so... distracted.

Of course, they were all in mourning for poor, noble Ms Grey. Kurt could and did sympathise, but he couldn't really share their pain since he'd hardly known her.

So he had learnt then to value his visits to the church, to anticipate them warmly and to fight despondency when the church was either not sufficiently empty, or when Father Enrico was absent. A friend was a gift to be treasured, now more than ever. Recovering from what Stryker had done to him, from what he had made Kurt do, was proving hard.

Father Enrico was nodding. Eyes still lowered, Kurt watched his jowled neck crease like the folds of an accordion above the white collar. "I understand. You don't need your every visit to God's house to become an impromptu symposium on mutant acceptance."

Kurt lifted his hands to refute this, though it wasn't untrue, just incomplete. "It is more that. I do not wish to disturb their time here."

The priest nodded again, but whether in agreement or simple acknowledgement Kurt was unsure. "May I join you, my son?" Father Enrico asked, indicating Kurt's pew. "Or is your wish today to be alone with the Lord?"

"Oh, of course. _Bitte_." Kurt shuffled sideways a little along the wooden bench, keeping his tail safely wrapped around his body, under his long coat.

It wasn't that Father Enrico would mind Kurt's tail thrashing about as was its wont when Kurt became agitated or excited. In fact, after initial surprise, the priest had accepted Kurt's blatant differences with unusual ease. He always seemed amused by Kurt's tail, saying its apparent autonomy reminded him of his cat.

No, Kurt kept the heavy trench coat tight around him, the collar high, to keep him from the screams, the shouts of 'devil' and 'obscene', should the heavy wooden door to the church open and another worshipper enter and see him. He'd replace his hat too, were it not for the certainty that this would produce another of the priest's fond lectures about respect for the Lord and for oneself.

"You shouldn't have to hide," Father Enrico said as he pulled his bulk into the narrow aisle between the pews, gathering his skirts to him. He sat down with a small huff. "You are, as I've said before, as much God's creature as I. You were born of mortal flesh, as was I. You had a father and a mother." Had Kurt had such? Well, presumably he'd had them.

This close, Kurt could smell the spicy sweat of the man, like smoked garlic sausage and incense. "I was adopted," he admitted. "I never knew my --what is the phrase? --my birth parents."

"Hmm," Father Enrico said non-committally. "And do you know why?"

"I was born much as I am now," Kurt answered, keeping his voice carefully neutral. Then he grinned at Father Enrico. "But I was cuter then."

The priest chuckled, his belly wobbling where his hands rested upon it. "I'm certain you were a --forgive me, Kurt-- but a perfectly charming little devil." From the priest, a friend, the word didn't hurt, and Kurt could laugh with him. Well, it didn't hurt so very much, anyway. Father Enrico's expression sobered. "You believe that your mother rejected you after she first saw your mutations."

Kurt forced a smile. "I was found half-drowned in the river." It had never been a secret at the circus. Whether or not Margali, his foster mother, would have preferred him ignorant of his arrival was irrelevant when all the other Kinder knew the story, the older ones having seen the events with their own eyes. "They do that to unwanted kittens, don't they? As if they consider it more merciful than a quick club over the head." Kurt shrugged. "I hold no grudges. My foster family was warm and loving."

"And yet you don't go back to them now."

"No. I- The Professor has told them I'm alive," Kurt said, explaining nothing. He couldn't explain something he didn't fully understand himself. He had been used as a weapon, as a tool for assassination. The world was no longer the same one in which he'd swung from the trapeze, flying and laughing, bathing in applause as if it were sunlight.

Father Enrico was silent for a while. Then he patted Kurt on the knee and moved the conversation on. "But before then, the circus was a good place to grow up, yes?"

"Ja." Kurt brightened immediately. "Where else would I fit in so well? There my body was costume, not... not living sin. I was their best trapeze artiste. Better than all the rest, even if sometimes I did cheat a little." He grinned. "The crowd thought the 'bamfs', the puffs of black smoke, were all, you know, the special effects. I was a hit!"

"So you enjoyed your childhood?"

"Most of it, ja. At times, it was hard, but I was lucky, I think. Anywhere else, I would have found only rejection. I landed on my feet." Kurt grinned again at Father Enrico. "I'm good at that."

The rounded mound of belly again juddered with good humour, and Kurt repressed a sudden urge to pat it fondly. Didn't they do that to Buddha statues for luck? He thought he'd heard that somewhere. Oh, he missed touching, being touched. The Szardos family were openly affectionate people as inevitably was Kurt himself if allowed, but no one ever touched him at the Mansion unless he was ill or practising combat manoeuvres.

"Bless you, my son," Father Enrico said. "You're a lesson in light to us all. And so the circus made you its own, bringing you up a good Catholic boy." Father Enrico was, Kurt thought, summarising their previous sparse conversations about Kurt's childhood. "Albeit," the priest added, "with knowledge of things more than a little heretical."

Telling Father Enrico about Margali Szardos' interest in gypsy magic had probably not been all that wise, Kurt considered wryly. "Knowing is not doing," he pointed out.

"Of course not." Father Enrico smiled reassuringly. "I do not fear a danger to your soul from that quarter."

Kurt frowned. "But you fear it from another?"

"Yes, my son. I'm sad to say that I do."

Kurt swallowed, staring straight ahead to the heavy wooden crucifix looming over the altar and trying to resist the urge to draw circles and glyphs in his head. He could feel his heart beating heavily in his chest. "_Ich verstehe nicht_. I don't feel in danger. I pray. I read the Bible every day. I do not break _die Gebote_, the commandments."

"Nonetheless, my good boy, your soul is imperilled. I see it clearly."

Looking down, Kurt studied the blue skin of his three-fingered hands. Hands? Were they not something closer to paws? "You think this body will corrupt me. Even you think that."

"No, Kurt, no." A heavy hand fell onto Kurt's shoulder, making him jump. "At least not in the way you mean. I'd hoped you knew me better than that by now. Have I ever judged you harshly for your mutations? If anything, I see you as a creature blessed and feel honoured that you seek me out."

"Blessed?" Kurt asked faintly, imagining himself carving into the dark wood of the pew in front of him, carefully forming the sigil of Gabriel.

"I sincerely believe your differences mark you as one of God's chosen."

Kurt leapt to his feet, full of uninterpretable emotion. "_Himmelherrgott nochmal_! How can you say that? Am I not the very image of the evil every child is brought up to fear?" He could feel his tail whipping about behind him, but for the moment made no effort to stop its telegraphing.

The priest sighed, looking up ruefully. "Sit down, child. I'm not your enemy. I never shall be, whatever happens."

Reluctantly, Kurt obeyed, leaning forward in the pew and resting his head in his hands. "I am sorry, Herr Pfarrer."

The priest spoke sternly. "Have no doubt, my son. God made you what you are, for the Devil does not have that power. If He chose that you are to look like this, then who are any of us to argue? He clearly considers you worthy of a superior challenge."

Kurt sat silently for a while, considering that. Then he leant back in the pew and laughed. He laughed loudly, the church amplifying the sound further. Tears prickled his eyes by the time he could speak again. "You have a unique view of the world, Father Enrico. I like it _sehr_."

A warm smile lifted the round face into brightness. "So have a little pride in your blessings, my boy. Pride is only a sin if it becomes blind arrogance. Being pleased with the gifts and challenges God gave you is better than a prayer of thanks. Kurt, if your mutant genes damn you, it will only be because you use them as a scapegoat for your real sins."

The priest's tone had hardened on his last two words, and the laughter died in Kurt's heart. "My real sins?"

Father Enrico sighed sadly. "The sin of ingratitude, Kurt, and the greater sin of denying God."

"I..." Kurt stared with horror at his friend. "I never..."

"You cower and skulk in shadows, afraid to show your face. Afraid to be who you are, to be who God made you." Anger, or something a lot like it, darkened the priest's voice and deepened the shadows in his skin creases. "You throw His blessing back in His face. You deny both His wisdom in granting you such blessings and His love in choosing you for them. You lack faith."

"I... I don't..." Horrified by the priest's words, Kurt began to list the names and domains of angels in his mind like virtual rosary beads. The one thing he had --had always had-- was faith. The existence of God was the one thing that could make sense of his existence. "It's just... _der Herr_ Professor likes us to be discreet."

Kurt closed his eyes in shame immediately the words were out. While they were true, his reasons for hiding had far more to do with his own fear than anything Charles Xavier had ever said.

"Ah yes. Your professor." Father Enrico sounded almost scathing. "What is it again that he believes in? Peaceful co-existence between mutants and ordinary humans?"

"_Ja_?" Kurt said timidly, feeling ever more adrift and desperate in this stormy ocean of a conversation. "He does _sehr gut_ work."

"His idea of peaceful co-existence is for mutants to hide themselves away in fear and shame, is it? To pretend to be 'normal' so as not to frighten the ignorant? To deny themselves and God's blessing?"

"Why are you so angry, _Pfarrer_?" Kurt begged. "I do not understand what I have done. If we want humans to accept us, surely it makes sense not to scare them."

"God gave you that body, Kurt. Do you reject his gift?"

_Ja_, some small shameful voice inside of him cried. Yes, I reject it. I do not want it. Let me be normal. Let me be at peace. "_Nein_, of course not," were the words he forced from his mouth.

And that too was true. For there were times still when Kurt knew joy as he had often on the trapeze; times when he unshackled his preternatural agility, his leaps between here and there, and he almost flew. Instead of a loathsome fiend, he felt then more like an angel, like something pure and unfettered and closer to God.

"I do not reject it," he said more firmly.

There was silence for a little while again. It felt approving though, so Kurt relaxed a little, letting his gaze wander back to the chancel and beginning a small prayer of thanks for things for which he'd thought he had little cause to feel thankful.

"These marks you make," Father Enrico said suddenly. "These cuttings into your flesh. Are you trying to keep something in or keep something out?"

Father Enrico had never asked that before, though the scars extended to Kurt's face for all to see. "They are... to cleanse me. _Pfarrer_, what did-"

"I want you to come with me now, Kurt." The priest hefted himself to his feet, using the pew in front of them as a prop. "I've something I want to show you."

***

It was a girl, a small green girl in a ragged dress, who was playing with a broken doll on the floor of a dusty crypt underneath the church. The crypt had been locked before they'd got there, and she didn't look up as they walked in, not even when Kurt offered a gentle, "Hello, little _MÃ¤dchen_."

"She doesn't speak," Father Enrico said, switching off his torch. There was electric strip-lighting fitted in here amongst the cobwebs. "If she were ever able, she chooses not to now."

"_Was_\- Why is she here?" Kurt demanded, crouching in front of her but prepared to move quickly should his appearance disturb her. "Who is she?"

"We don't know her name." Her eyes were a darker green than her skin, Kurt noticed, although they did not seem to see him. Father Enrico continued. "She was found brutalised in Rondale Park three weeks ago. No parents have laid claim to her, and the hospital was preparing to give her up to the Ministry of Light. I've good reason to believe that charity is a front for organised anti-mutant activities, so... we stole her from under their noses."

Stole her? And who was 'we'? There was, it seemed, far more to the kindly priest than Kurt had ever realised. "What will you do with her?" he asked.

An attempt had been made to convert the crypt into a suitable place for a child. There was a small bed, a safety heater, bright posters tacked to the wall, but it remained cold, dark and damp. It seemed obscene for a little girl to be kept in such a place.

"She can't stay here," he added.

"We have a safe place prepared for her, a foster family who will take her in. She leaves tomorrow. Maybe one day she'll be prepared to speak to the world again." Father Enrico sat down on the cot bed, close to the child.

"_Der Herr_ Professor would-"

"No. No, my son, this one isn't for him. She needs a safer haven than he can provide."

The children at the school were as safe as a great deal of money and power could make them, but perhaps Father Enrico meant something different. It was true that the Professor's millions had not saved the children from William Stryker's forces.

Kurt stared at the girl, startling when she suddenly began to sing in a soft, sweet voice. She didn't use any language Kurt had ever heard before. The doll danced to her song, looping across the dusty floor.

Father Enrico waited until the last delicate notes of the song had died in their ears before saying, "I must show you something now which may disturb you." He leant forward. "Don't be too distressed. I believe her almost completely unaware of us." He reached out a chubby hand to the child and lifted her dress.

This alone shocked Kurt, and the sight of her grubby panties worried him even more. It wasn't right to show him such things. But when he saw the word, marked as it was on her frail apple-green back with jagged letters of crusted blood, he felt sick. 'MUTIE', it screamed. MUTIE – both a classification and a judgement.

"Do you see, Kurt? What you do to yourself, others have done to this innocent."

Father Enrico let the dress fall back into place, but the word had scarred Kurt's eyes. "_Vater unser_," he muttered, "_der Du bist im Himmel. Geheiliget werde Dein Name. Dein Reich komme. Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel-_"

"Her only mutation is her pigmentation," the priest continued, ignoring Kurt's prayer. "They did terrible things to her, Kurt, and they felt they had a right to do them."

"Because she was a mutant. A... a mutie."

"Yes." Father Enrico sounded sympathetic. "These acts of violence and mutilation, these abominations, will continue until human beings learn to accept differences. Cowering in shadows, Kurt, is not the way to accomplish that." The priest looked earnestly at him as the child played obliviously at their feet. "Mutants need to take a leaf from the gay rights movement and make themselves visible --we're here; we're powerful. We're not going away."

The gay rights movement? Kurt shuffled uneasily, his tail dancing behind him. "You are a very strange priest, _Herr Pfarrer_."

"I suspect you're right," Father Enrico acknowledged, ducking his head. With a sigh, he pulled himself to his feet. "I can't ignore these atrocities. The Holocaust happened because nobody stopped it, and believe me, it could have been stopped at almost any time, but there was denial on an international scale. Even the Jews themselves learnt to be blind, to accept the unacceptable, to perhaps believe in the inevitability of their own defeat. So effective was the Nazi deconstruction of the Jewish soul that they rarely fought back, even when they vastly outnumbered their persecutors and murderers."

Holocaust Syndrome, Kurt had heard of it. Within his gypsy foster family, Kurt had been taught of the genocide from an early age in the spirit, he supposed, of 'never forget'. There had been a time when he'd wondered if maybe his diabolical appearance was somehow a physical manifestation of German guilt, the collective shame made flesh, but then he'd realised that he was committing the sin of pride by giving himself such importance.

What was Father Enrico saying here? That what had happened to the Jews, the gypsies, and so many others could now happen to mutants?

Kurt already knew that. He thought of Stryker again. Had the man succeeded, there would now not be a single mutant left in the world. And then Magneto, turning the tables, but attempting the same unthinkable crime. What drove a soul to genocide? How could anyone let themselves become that... evil?

"Professor Xavier and his people will stop that happening to us," he said firmly.

"But it's already happening," Father Enrico said, making the slightest of gestures towards the little green girl. "This is just the tip of a very ugly iceberg." He held up his hand to stop Kurt's reply. "Come, my son. Let us talk in the next room, just in case at some level she does hear us."

Kurt didn't want to leave the girl alone in this dark place, and his reluctance must have shown since Father Enrico came forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. "She chose this unhappy bedroom in her own way. She becomes very distressed when we try to take her above ground. She too has learnt to hide, you see."

They left the chamber, moving into the next one along, and the priest shuffled around, lighting a number of candle lanterns situated on the stone ledges and other surfaces of the crypt room. The electricity clearly didn't extend this far.

"We're not in denial," Kurt said, watching him. "_Der Herr_ Professor knows of the dangers we face. He's a realist."

"I'm certain of it," Father Enrico replied. "Your Professor's a very clever man, but he is, at heart, a pacifist." The priest said the word as if it meant 'coward'.

"Is that so wrong?" Kurt couldn't believe that it was.

"In war, one is either the aggressor, the resister, or the collaborator, my son." Father Enrico shook his had sadly. "Sit down. Let us at least discuss this without aching backs."

There was a bare wooden bench along one wall. Kurt felt too uneasy to sit, but he stepped onto it beside where Father Enrico now rested, and then crouched. "Professor Xavier is not a collaborator," he insisted, knowing he sounded cross and not caring. It was obvious what the priest was insinuating, and he didn't like it. "He helps mutants."

"He helps them hide," Father Enrico said, sounding just as cross if more weary. "He helps them run."

Kurt stared uneasy at the fat man in the priest robes. He'd had no idea his friend felt so strongly about all of this. He'd always seemed sympathetic of the mutant cause, of course, but this was several steps further along. "_Pfarrer_... are you a mutant too?"

Father Enrico closed his eyes and paused for a few moments before speaking. "I have lost friends who were mutants, Kurt. Good friends, loyal and brave, murdered for an accident of genes. I've had mutant friends brutalised and imprisoned for the crime of refusing to... to lie down and take it."

He'd had no idea. "But _der Herr_ Professor-"

"Herr Professor, Herr Professor!" Father Enrico's eyes seemed to flash in the flickering lantern light. "Are you capable of thinking for yourself, Kurt? Has he conditioned you so thoroughly?"

"_Nein_. No, of course not." Kurt dropped his head into his hands and tried to make sense of everything that had happened since coming to the church. "_Ich verstehe das nicht_. I don't understand what it is that he's doing that seems so wrong to you."

Father Enrico nodded; he seemed to be making some effort to recover his normal serenity. His next words, though shocking, were said calmly and slowly. "The Professor runs a school in which he trains mutants to behave, to be covert and controlled, to be good little pretend humans. He trains up the most powerful to join his private army, which he uses in the main not to fight the cause for mutant rights, but to police his own kind." The priest locked gazes with Kurt. "There was a word for a collaborator like that once --'_capo_'."

Capo? _Verdammt noch mal_! "The capos were the prisoner-guards in the death camps! How dare you... _Ach, entschuldigung, Pfarrer_. But how can you say the Professor is like the capos? He is a good man."

"Who is to say the capos were not once good men, Kurt? Even good men will fall to sin if it seems the only way to survive, and they do not really believe in... in the mercy of God. Such men, men without cause, will do almost anything to hold onto life, even turn on their own."

"But he isn't turning on his own. He's helping mutants, taking them in, giving them shelter and... and a lot more." Just as he had for Kurt. Where would Kurt be now without Professor Charles Xavier?

"Training them to be his private police force," the priest repeated. "Encouraging them to hide their power, their blessings, just as he does. Accepting every blow against mutants passively and then turning his face to accept the next."

Wasn't turning the other cheek what Christ had done? And was it just Kurt's imagination, or did Father Enrico's slight Spanish accent seem to fade further the more fierce he became? "What would you have me do?" Kurt asked wretchedly.

Father Enrico drew a heavy breath through his nose, slumping back against the dirty brick wall of the chamber. "Be yourself, Kurt," he said quietly. "Be who you were born to be. Embrace your difference, your power, with pride and gratitude. Make no apologies."

"But-"

Now Father Enrico moved, pushing himself up and struggling to his feet to face Kurt. "You have power, blessings, of which the humans can only dream. If the verbal stones become real ones, show the stone-throwers the sum of their stupidity. Don't be afraid to use your power. Don't be afraid to be better than they are. God gave you power to be used. Use it to fight for your right to be you, and the same rights for every other mutant."

"You are not Father Enrico." Only after he'd said the words did Kurt realise that they had to be true. It wasn't even that the man's words didn't make sense --since they did, in a rather terrifying way, make perfect sense-- but they were not the words of the gently devout Catholic Kurt had come to respect over his months in New York State.

He prepared himself to teleport out of here, back to sunlight and safety. No, back to the next room first to rescue that poor child, but then away. Far away.

The man, whoever he was, smiled slowly. "Oh, I am Enrico, my dear son. In as much as anyone is."

"_Was_... what does that mean?"

"The resident priest of St Catherine's is a Father Patrick O'Donal, Kurt, as you'd know if you'd ever thought to check. He's an old man, increasingly frail, and not seen much in church these days. He's anxiously awaiting his replacement, but there seems to be a delay at the regional office. If you asked him, he'd deny all knowledge of a Father Enrico here."

All this time, months, and who had Kurt really been speaking to? Suddenly, shockingly, he knew. "You are Mystique." It was the only answer possible. Well, no, it wasn't, but he was right; he was sure of it.

"Yes." The priest smiled encouragingly, and then his fat flesh and the folds of his robes seemed to shimmer, pulling in with a slick, viscous noise and growing sleek, as blue as Kurt's own skin. Even with all Kurt had seen and knew, the transformation still seemed terrifying, monstrous. "I wanted to talk to you," he --no, she-- said, her voice rising in pitch as she spoke. "This seemed as good a way as any."

"It was... dishonest." Kurt felt numb. He wanted his friend back. He realised suddenly that he was staring at Mystique's breasts without really seeing them, so he turned away in a hurry and watched instead a large spider scuttle across the light-striped floor. "It was unfair."

"Yes, it was," she agreed easily, her voice sounding almost preternaturally smooth after the basso profundo of the priest. "Would you have given me a fair hearing if you'd known who was talking? Would Xavier really have allowed you come to the church if he'd known you were meeting me here?"

Kurt had no idea. He had few thoughts of any kind currently. "I'm not a prisoner."

"Are you sure?" Mystique stepped closer. He could see her feet, bare like his, yet more human. "You don't act like a free man, Kurt Wagner. Do you remember asking me why I preferred my own form when I could look like anyone I pleased and so fit in?"

He remembered staring at her in wonder, the firelight flickering over her much as the candlelight was now. She had seemed so much like him and yet so free. What had she done with Father Enrico? No, he wasn't real. He'd never been real. _Und ob ich schon wanderte im finstern Tal, fürchte ich kein Unglück; denn du bist bei mir, dein Stecken..._

"Kurt?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder and shuddered, pulling away. "You said you shouldn't have to change to fit in. So why the disguise with me now?"

"Because, like you, I was scared of taking the risk of honesty." Honesty always involved a risk, of course, but Mystique did not sound scared. Her voice was cold and dry with an edge to it, like ice straight from the freezer at the school.

Kurt turned to look at her again. "Why me?" he asked. Months, she'd been taking this form, giving false succour to his soul. Oh _Gott_, what had he told her? Had he betrayed the Professor? Revealed the X-Men's secrets? "I liked _Pfarrer_ Enrico," he added in a small voice.

She smiled. "Father Enrico liked you too. You were his favourite sinner. Well, his only one really, though I had fun with a couple of human idiots." She winked at him. "Enrico was worried about you, Kurt. I could take his form again if it would make you more comfortable." Her shape began to waver, her scales lifting.

"_Nein_!" Kurt shook his head, backing away. "No. He's not real." He paused. "Was he ever?"

"I took his shape from a man I once saw in a mall near Chicago," Mystique said, her scales flattening again. "His personality is my own work of art." She smiled wryly. "I'm good at what I do."

"_Ja_. Yes, you are," Kurt agreed easily. He had after all been completely fooled. He felt... he felt as if he now knew a little of what the others had been going through, having lost Jean Grey. But Ms Grey had been real, not a... trick. How foolish to be so bereft at having lost a friend he'd never really had. "Why me?" he asked again.

"You'll work it out eventually," Mystique said, smiling again, and there was something of the warmth of Father Enrico in that smile, much to Kurt's surprise. He hadn't believed the woman to be capable of warmth. Maybe the characters she put on like costumes sank into her a little after a while.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

He contemplated her possible reasons. "Because I was naÃ¯ve enough to... to fall for it and give you the Professor's secrets under the veil of confession." He thought perhaps he hated her, even though that would be a sin. It was as if she had murdered Father Enrico.

Mystique raised an eyebrow, her golden eyes glinting in the guttering light. "Did I once suggest we enter the confessional?" No, he- she hadn't, and they never had. "Erik, of course, wanted me to milk you like a willing cow, but that isn't why I'm here, Kurt."

Erik --Magneto-- a terrifying man of a power as inconceivable as the Professor's. Was Mystique his lover? It had seemed that way during their short time of working together at Alkali Lake. "He's a lot older than you," Kurt said without thinking.

"Who, Erik?" Mystique laughed. "Less than you might think. I don't show my age."

"You've known him a long time?" Had she too once been a friend of the Professor? Why was he chatting with her as if she'd done nothing, as if they were just two mutants passing the time of day?

"Decades. We haven't always seen eye to eye."

"Were you not always so... militant as he?" Kurt's loyalty to his non-existent friend seemed to want something here, some proof, maybe, that Mystique was not as evil as her comrades.

But Mystique laughed again. "The other way around, I'm afraid. It took Erik longer than you might think to completely throw off your professor's... training." What was she implying? The Professor would never-

"You really hate him, don't you?" Kurt stared unhappily at Mystique, not quite meeting her eyes. "Just because he wants to avoid war between mutants and humans."

Mystique snorted, tossing her head to the side. "The war has already started, and Charles Xavier can't avoid it by sticking his head in the sand. That man is guilty of mass-murder by negligence."

"You're a liar," Kurt said, feeling very certain. "I don't know why you have... targeted me like this, why you are trying so hard to turn me against the man who has been nothing but kind to me, but I know that what you're saying isn't true."

"He has the power to stop every abuse or murder of a mutant that takes place, but he won't, because he's afraid."

"Do you mean by using that machine? That Cerebro?" Kurt glared at Mystique. "You call him a coward because he refuses to kill every human on the planet? You are insane."

"With his level of power, I'm certain he could find a way to save mutants that didn't turn the whole planet into a stinking abattoir." As if that was all that bothered her about that plan. "My point is, Kurt, that he refuses to use his power, and mutants --good mutants, innocents --die."

He said nothing; what could he say? It was true that the Professor had vast levels of power, but he was also a very wise man. If he didn't use his power, it must be for a good reason.

Not perhaps being quite so wise, Kurt could see the argument for a more active fight against those who would eradicate his kind. He could see it, in fact, quite strongly. Mystique had argued her point all too well using Father Enrico's rumbling voice, but the things Magneto had attempted could never be right, and Kurt would never believe that the Professor was a bad man, a _capo_, a mass murderer, nor any of the other things Mystique might call him.

She was a liar. Her words were as flexible and meaningless as the shape of her body.

"Take this off," Mystique said suddenly, closing on Kurt and pushing his coat from his shoulders. "Be who you really are."

"_Lassen Sie mich in Ruhe_!" Kurt jerked himself out her hands. "Don't touch me."

"You're as scared as he is," Mystique jeered. "You're infected with Xavier's weakness."

"I'm not. I mean, he has no-"

"Then be yourself!"

Oh, what possible harm could there be in revealing his mutations in a lonely church cellar and only another mutant to see them? With a deft movement, Kurt pulled out of his trench coat and then folded it onto the table at the side. "There," he said, holding out his arms and feeling irrationally shy. "Better? Or would you want me naked too, like you?"

She shook her head, smiling. "You are a beautiful man, Kurt. Be proud."

"Now you sound like _der Herr Pfarrer_ again. Well, a little." He'd almost smiled back her before he'd caught himself. He looked down at his feet in confusion.

"Do you really think that, because I was fat and male when I said those words, they were meaningless?" As that's exactly what Kurt had thought, he glanced back up to meet that kindly smile again. It looked so wrong on her face.

As she was looking at him, appraising him without embarrassment, he let himself briefly do the same with her. Her skin was a lighter shade of blue than his. Prettier, he thought, surprising himself. Blue skin wasn't meant to be pretty, was it? Certainly not blue skin covered in obvious scales. But he liked those scales; he'd liked them the first time he'd ever seen her.

There was something strangely comforting about them.

She came towards him again, and with a quick movement, reached out and captured his tail. She let it run through her hands as Kurt snapped it back to him in a hurry. It seemed an appallingly intimate touch. "What are you doing?" he asked, trying not to sound quite as scandalised as he felt.

"I always liked your little tail," she said, seeming... sad? "It would wrap around my arm like a monkey's when I fed you."

"_Wa_... what?"

Her expression was sympathetic as she nodded, and Kurt recognised the gesture with a sense of horrid fascination. "Be brave, my son," she said, her voice deepening slightly as if she were indeed trying to play the priest again. "It's only your fear holding you back. You know really what I'm telling you. You know who I am, who you are."

"_Mein Gott_," Kurt whispered harshly, his brain stuttering under the impact. "You can't be saying..."

Her voice hardened, and she glared at him with eyes so like his own. "Can't I, Kurt? Wake up!"

"_Mutter_?" he asked in a strangled tone.

"If you like the word." She shrugged and turned from him, walking deeper into the shadows. "I wouldn't have made a good mother even if things had been different. I'm not the nurturing type." She chuckled darkly. "To say the least."

Kurt said nothing. He could grab his coat and teleport out of here now; 'port back to the school and confess his transgressions to the Professor. He never had to see Mystique again, God willing.

He didn't move.

"They were chasing me with dogs," she said suddenly. "Your birth, my attempts to protect you, revealed to my- to your father that I wasn't what I seemed. I took you and ran, so he called the hounds out. They would have ripped us both to pieces." She walked a couple of steps forward, back into the light. "I could change, you see. Become a man and change my scent entirely, but I couldn't change you. So I remembered the story of Moses and gave you to the river, to destiny, and led the dogs away from you before I took another form."

"And you ask why we hide," Kurt said quietly, feeling beyond shock now.

She frowned. "That is exactly why we shouldn't hide. If humans were accustomed to seeing such differences, if they understood our power, if we stood together against them, they wouldn't dare rip apart babies with dogs or carve words like stigmata into the backs of children."

Could she be right? Certainly, Kurt had no good argument left to use against hers, and they couldn't just accept things like... like that poor little child in the next chamber. He felt battered and weary after all he had seen and heard today. The Professor could maybe... but the Professor wasn't here, and Kurt was choosing not to go to him, wasn't he? So many questions needed answering now, and Mystique was the one with the answers.

"Is this a... a recruitment?" he asked eventually.

She looked a little surprised. "If you wish. Maybe I just wanted you to understand."

He couldn't allow himself to trust her. Maybe --probably --everything she'd said had been a lie. But no, not everything. She was right about the Holocaust, about how silence and denial had allowed it to occur, the biggest and most appalling elephant in the corner in modern history.

"Are you really my... really her?"

"Unless there is another German mutant your age who looks just like you." She grinned suddenly and turned slightly to the side. "You have a birthmark just here," she said, pointing to her hip. Well, it wasn't precisely her hip, but it wasn't right to look at that bit of her, was it? Especially if she were...

"I do," he admitted, beginning to believe. Maybe he wanted to believe. "Why didn't you look for me?"

Her face lost expression, and she turned fully away from him. "I thought you were dead, drowned. I couldn't see how you could have survived that torrent."

"Then why-?"

"What choice did I have?" Mystique whirled back to confront him, her face angry and upset. It could be all an act, but... Oh, how was Kurt meant to tell?

He stepped forward again. "Don't be upset. I'm just trying to understand. When you saw me come out of the jet that day, did you know?"

She shook her head. "I didn't even let myself think it. That came afterwards." She grimaced. "I'll never hurt you, Kurt. I want you to know that. Whatever you think of me, if you ever need help..."

She had, of course, already hurt him, but now Kurt seemed to mind a little less about Father Enrico. He gave her a gentle smile. "What should I do then? Shine a big 'M' into the clouds?"

"I'll know."

So she'd be watching him. He didn't mind that thought as much as he probably should. "You're assuming I won't be going with you, aren't you? To wherever you'll go now that you've been–" he grinned cheekily "–defrocked."

"I'm not your professor. Life with me wouldn't be... comfortable." Despite her words, Mystique seemed unable to stop herself returning his grin, and they gazed at each other for a few moments until Kurt became distracted by his tail.

It was snaking towards her, as ever seeming to know what he wanted before he did. He grabbed at it, and Mystique laughed.

"I won't lie to you, Kurt. We're fighting the war Xavier pretends doesn't exist. If you want to fight with us, you'd be welcome, but you wouldn't be able to hide anymore."

Kurt nodded, playing with the point of his tail as he thought things through.

He thought of a nameless little green girl, lost in trauma, singing her sweet little song in a cold, dark crypt. He looked at his bundled coat on the table and compared its weight to how he felt high on the trapeze --flying with _den Engeln_. He thought about breathing and about suffocating, about living and about surrender, about humanity and family, and he thought about joy.

All the while, Mystique just stood there, barely moving, watching him, candlelight dappling her skin.

Kurt walked closer to... to his mother, holding his hands out. "I want to fly. I want us all to fly in the sunlight."

Taking his hands, Mystique said, "We want that too." Her grip was firm and cool.

"I won't kill," Kurt warned. "I'll commit no crimes that would make me as evil as those who sin against us."

"You're a good Catholic boy." Mystique smiled a little wickedly. "Didn't I say that already today?"

"I could still help. I want to help. No one should be made to hate what God made them. I want to... to take fear and replace it with joy. Will you let me?"

Mystique drew him close. "I believe you are absolved of your sins, my son."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2005 xmmficathon. Many thanks to mpoetess and viciouswishes for the betas and to selenak for the German language help.


End file.
